A mile-high co-incidence or is it fate?

13 January 2012

A mile-high co-incidence or is it fate?

Fate is … when you try to catch an earlier flight and the ground attendants say they can’t help even though you know in your heart that they could have if they wanted to.  You know there is a seat, you just want to get home, soak in the bath and just not think!  The day has been too long, its been hot and humid, tempers have flared…. give me a seat… damn it! you think to yourself.

There is no option but to sit it out.  Three hours it takes for your flight to arrive and with nothing better to do you order a beer and watch the cricket, nothing else showing anyway.  You don’t mind, you enjoy watching cricket.  One beer leads to a second one whilst glancing mildly bored at the clock for the umpteenth time.

Tick tick… an hour to go.

Your mind wanders to what could have been, you could have been home by now, soaking in that bath.

With a sigh of relief your flight is called, everybody congregates for the airplane shuffle, stashing their bags away.  Click click, you hear the seatbelts go, a sound that is muted somewhat into the recess of your brain as background noise.

You find your seat, the one you had booked earlier that day.  It’s always the same one coming back, if you’re lucky.

The humidity in the air made the air-vent form water droplets above your seat, it is wet.  You have to wait for clear passage before you can go and get to an attendant.  They are all busy with pre-preps.  Not really wanting to disturb but no other option, you walk to the front to ask for a cloth to wipe the seat with.

The attendant looks up, into your eyes and you see a microsecond of recognition.  Nah, figment of your imagination, she’s pretty you think.  They always are in their tight uniforms, make-up, hair, professional looking.  She said she will dry the seat for you and walks over to your seat.

Asking to see your ticket, a strange thing to do, you think.  She starts to laugh and you can’t understand why.

“You don’t remember me, do you?  We played as kids doctors and nurses” she said with a big grin on her face.  It dawned on you, that was over 30 years ago, your next-door neighbours, on THE farm.  You were maybe 8, she would have been 7 then.  Her crazy, German dad slashing the rocks.

“Slashing the rocks?”  I ask as he tells me the story.

“Yes, slashing the rocks, wrecked more slashers than you could poke a stick at”.

“Is she married? Has kids? Did you get her number?”

             ……… to be continued soon……

(Images are not of the actual persons involved)